


Don't Tell Me Who I Am

by InTheShadows



Series: I've Got 99 Problems and Narnia Caused Most of Them [2]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Female-Centric, Feminist Themes, Gen, Nightmares, Post-Prince Caspian, Self-Doubt, The Problem of Susan, emotions are messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:02:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21624214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InTheShadows/pseuds/InTheShadows
Summary: When the first dream first starts Susan doesn't realize that she is dreaming at all. After all, she is back home, in Narnia, where she belongs. Why would she question that? But then the dream quickly turns into a nightmare, sending her reeling. Living in a strange land is hard. Moving on is harder.
Relationships: Aslan & Susan Pevensie
Series: I've Got 99 Problems and Narnia Caused Most of Them [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1531364
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35





	Don't Tell Me Who I Am

The dream starts off so normal that Susan doesn’t realize just what it is. She is walking the grounds of Cair Paravel, taking advantage of some unexpected free time on a warm, sunny day. Her feet are bare and her skirt is hiked up to her knees. Here in their private garden there isn’t anyone to see and judge her. The weight of everyone’s eyes are off of her for the moment. Her crown twirls around in her fingers. Heavy is the head that wears the crown. The phrase passes idly through her thoughts. 

She isn’t sure where she’s heard that before, but she’s sure she has. There is truth to that statement as well. Truth that no one told them when they were first crowned. It wouldn’t have stopped then and perhaps it wouldn’t have helped, but it still would have been nice to hear. As if ruling a kingdom, when the eldest is only sixteen, is easy. It’s not. However, she doubts that whoever said it was also warning about the crown giving you terrible headaches. A shame because that is also true. 

Perhaps she should have known then that she is dreaming. She isn’t in Narnia anymore, and never will be again. She no longer has a crown. It is all so normal and welcoming though that she forgets that. Why wouldn’t she accept that she is home? 

Then, in the way of dreams, Aslan is walking beside her. She smiles at him, running her fingers through his soft fur. 

“Daughter of Eve,” he greets.

“Aslan.” He does not show himself often, hardly at all in fact. Not that any of them expect him to, but they are always glad to see him when he does appear.

“Daughter of Eve,” he repeats, “why do you deny me?” 

She frowns. “What?” 

Things change suddenly. Cair Paravel is gone. All that is left are the ruined stones of the structure. Clouds cover the sun and the wind picks up. It tears at her hair and dress. The temperature drops as if a sudden, violent storm is on its way. A chill runs down her spine. “Aslan?” 

He is in front of her without moving, seemingly. Disapproval radiates off of him. “Is your faith so easily shaken? Do I mean so little to you?” 

“No,” she shakes her head, taking a step back. Suddenly she is very, very afraid, “No, it isn’t true. I do believe. I  _ do _ .” Yes she has had trouble in the past, but that is in the past. Hasn’t she proved herself by now? What more does she need to do? Hasn’t her years of queen so far been enough?

“You believe in what you see only,” Aslan says sadly, “The strongest are those who do not see yet still believe. Only the weak need proof.” He takes a step forward.

She takes a step back. “I am not weak.” Just because she isn’t the perfect little follower, going blindly this way and that does not mean she is weak. Just because it takes her longer than others does not mean there is something wrong with her. She is only human. 

“I named you gentle for a reason. I always knew that you would be the weakest link among the four.” Another step forward. 

Susan’s temper ignites. There are few things that irritate her more than being compared to her siblings - especially when she is then found lacking. She is her own person, not a copy of Lucy the baby or Peter the respected or even Edmund who has grown wise and steady. She is herself. “Gentle does not mean weak. Have you any idea what I deal with for that title? For my looks? Have you any idea what I am truly capable of? My worth is not measured by their qualities.” 

“You are,” Aslan corrects, “you always have been. I know what you are able to do. I know what you will always do. In the end it will never be enough. You will deny me. You will forsake me.” Another step. 

“No,” Susan denies even as she takes another step back, “No, I will not. It is  _ you _ who will forsake  _ me _ . You who will abandon me for not fitting into what you expect me to be. I am more than your expectations. You put me in a box just like everyone else. How? How can you not  _ see me _ ? I thought you were supposed to be different.” The words spill out of her in an accusation that she has never dared voice before. 

The wind blows even stronger as he speaks, although it does nothing to drown out his words. “Oh Daughter of Eve, it is you who do not see. You have blinded yourself to what you really are. You see what is not there inside of yourself. I who know you to your truest form, I who brought you here and put you on the throne. I know who you truly are better than yourself. I know that you will always fail.” 

Susan is shaking now. She has heard it before. She has thought it before. But to hear it from Aslan himself means something else entirely. “No,” she says. That seems to be the only thing that she can say. No. No it isn’t true. It can’t be. Can it? 

“I have no use for the weak. Only the strong.” He gives a roar that shakes the very ground and lunges at her. 

She screams - or she thinks she does. Dodging him her bare foot slips on the ground, putting her off balance. She leans back too far and is falling. She hadn’t realized that she had been so close to the cliff and now she is falling over the edge to the rocks below. There is nothing to grab onto. Her hands grasp at empty air, trying to save herself. Aslan’s claws had come centimeters from her face. Now he watches impassively as she falls. “Aslan!” she screams, falling, falling, fall- 

She wakes up with a gasp. Quickly she covers her mouth to quiet the sound of her too harsh breathing. A cold sweat covers her, making her shiver. Across the room Lucy is still asleep in her bed. The covers are bunched up and one arm is hanging out. She doesn’t move. Good, then Susan hadn’t woken her up then. Good. Quietly she lets out a long sigh, trying to calm herself. It doesn’t work. 

Silently she slips out of bed and goes down to the kitchen. Everything is dark, but she doesn’t need any light to do this. By now it is habit enough to do with her eyes closed. Expertly she fills the kettle and turns on the heat. While she waits she sets everything else out. Her limbs shake, a constant tremble going through her as she moves. Absently, resolutely, she wipes the sweat from her brow. 

Desperately she attempts to tell herself that it was just a dream. A nightmare. It is hardly a surprise that her mind conjured up that particular image. Not with what she has been dealing with lately. It’s not as if Aslan really said those things to her. It is merely a return of her thoughts and fears, taking a known shape. Aslan did not truly send her to her death as he watched uncaringly. He did not forsake her, call her weak, say she is wrong about herself. Right? 

It is not Aslan reaching out to her through her dreams because he would never say those things to her. Too bad she cannot believe it, not quite. There is some truth to what he said - not all, but some. Enough. Despite her resolve to move on she has not been the most successful. Things continue to haunt her whether she wills them or not. 

The kettle begins to whistle. She takes it off quickly before it wakes anyone up. The last thing she wants is company right now. Not her parents who would never understand even if she explained it to them. Not Lucy who has become the exact opposite of who Susan is. Who is the perfect ‘daughter of Eve’ where Susan is not. Not Edmund who might understand, but then again might not. Not Peter, who is slowly but surely changing. In a way he is growing to be the High King that he once was. In another, he just- 

She remembers late nights at Cair Paravel, when neither of them could sleep. When the nightmares were very different and very real. One does not leave a battlefield unscratched, even if they are uninjured physically. It has a way of sticking with you no matter what. The sight, the sound, the smell. None of it leaves you easily. So they would keep each other company, talking and comforting the other. The nights did not seem so lonely or so dark then. Now though, it is not the same. 

Peter will soon be off to university. Susan will enter her last year of boarding school. They are growing older - again - but differently this time. This time their hands are not calloused from weapons, their heads not use to the weight of crowns. There are no laws to write, no balls to attend. Everything is different - including themselves. In Narnia they grew close, grew together. Now, here, at this time they seem to be growing apart. It’s not something immediately noticeable, but it is there. 

Automatically she continues to make her tea. Oh how she misses tea that was not rationed. It’s just not the same as it was before the war. It is still going strong with no end in sight. London is still in ruins, men still fight and die for their country, people still continue with their wartime mentality. It is a very different war then she is used to, but still a war nonetheless. Oh how she has changed from expecting guns and explosions to swords and arrows to guns and bombs again. What was once familiar is now strange. 

That is the problem with everything though, isn’t it? She grew use to Narnia, she thrived in Narnia and now she is back here. Maybe it should be a comfort, but it isn’t. How can it be when it does not feel like her world anymore? Where before talking animals and magic seemed impossible, now it is odd that it does not exist here as well. It reminds her of Alice in Wonderland. How did she adjust when she came back? Surely it could not have been easy for her. 

But of course that will never be answered because things like that do not happen. Who travels to a magical land and then back again? The irony burns her throat more than the tea she sips. Who indeed. It would not be logical to assume so. Not practical to think such a thing. Oh yes, the bitter taste in her mouth has nothing to do with her tea. 

With no one around to see she collapses into the chair. Her body folds into itself, no longer holding a proud and straight posture. Here, now, she is safe. Her version of keeping a stiff upper lip as it were. Stay strong and stay silent. That is the best protection you have sometimes. People expect meek, beautiful and soft when they look at her. That is never going to change, it is out of her control. What she can is how she reacts to it. How she survives it. 

Aslan’s words echo in her head. What he accused her of. What he told her. In the end it doesn’t matter if he was real or not. It is a conversation that does not need a second party to mouth the words. She knows them already. She battles them. She is not weak, not a poor imitation of her other siblings, but what if she is wrong? What if all she will ever be is what people see? What if there really isn’t more to her than that? 

Self doubt is a hateful thing. It eats at you and eats at you until there is nothing left. And no matter how hard you try, it never goes away. Not completely. The voices linger and poke at the softest points they can find. And oh how easily they are able to find those points as well. 

Lately they seem to be growing in strength. They are starting to plague her like never before. She is almost seventeen now. Another year and she will have finished her schooling. Will be an adult in the eyes of the world. The first time she came back from Narnia she longed for this. To be an adult and free again. 

Naive because even when she turns eighteen she will not be free. Not truly. Not in the ways she wants. Already her mother has started on her talks of boys and proper introductions. Not a new topic, but one that is steadily increasing. The pressure and the expectations are growing. She is worried that she will have to do something drastic to get away from them. Something possibly alienating or scandalous, which she does not want. Saying that she will take her life into her own hands is one thing, doing it is another. Words are always easier than actions. 

It is not the courage she lacks or the will, but at times she fears it will take more strength than she has. Especially like now, when nightmares and doubts shake her. This might be the worst one she has had, but it is far from the first. Her sleep has been haunted ever since her return. It makes it harder to hold onto the temper she does not allow others to know she has. Makes her more irritable and less patient. Makes it harder to keep a calm and steady presence as she has been taught. 

It does not make it easier to move on either. Her week of mourning has long past. But still it lingers. Keeping hold of her. How is she to heal and go on if it will not let her go? Narnia is a part of her very soul, even if she will never return. A queen living in exile. A queen must always be poised and collected. She is the strength of her people, whoever and wherever they may be. A queen, just like a king, is a symbol. To deny that symbol, that power, is to deny the sky is blue or the Earth is round. You can say the words all you want, but that does not make it any more believable. Who would listen? 

Still some try. They talk and jeer and whisper, trying to bring people over to their point of view. They keep going and keep going until the convince some, bring doubt to others. They talk in circles, round and round, until people do not know what is true and what is not. If something is said, is heard, enough times then in must be true. If enough people believe it than that must be what is right. They say the Earth is flat and get others to believe it. After all, how can the view of so many be so wrong? 

Quite easily in fact. More than people would like to acknowledge - especially when it comes to giving everyone equal rights. Time and time again, history has shown the length those in power will go to to keep others beneath them. As if they are truly superior in some way. It has happened in Narnia and it is happening now. Both times a man has risen in the ranks to conquer and suppress those that do not fit their world view. Both commit terrible crimes in the name of power and greed. 

The world seems ruled by power - those that have it and those that do not. It is a cold way of looking at things. Cynical. Yet it is also true. Susan has felt the imbalance of power all of her life now. How can she not believe it? Still it is not something she discusses - it would not be  _ practical _ . It is just the way things are. Better to accept it than to rage uselessly against it. 

She sips at her cooling tea and attempts to reign in her thoughts. They have gone far off course by now. Then again the goal was to calm herself down, not think on any one thing. At least the shaking has stopped if nothing else. 

Now that the nightmare has ended, her main emotion is anger - at herself, at Aslan, at the entire world. Both of them. What she said, what she accused, was true. Even if it is only true from her point of view that does not make it any less valid. Aslan can talk of noble things like faith and belief and denial, it makes no difference. She does not have time for such things. Not if she wants to keep her own standards intact. She can believe all she wants, but that does not change the world she has to navigate every day. The expectations. The limitations. Everything. She is entering her own personal war where the only code of honor that matters is her own. 

A tad melodramatic perhaps, but that is how she feels. Self doubt is not the only thing that has been plaguing her lately. Anger has as well. Where before Narnia, she was accepting, now she is not. Where before it was easy - relatively easy - to keep control of herself now it is a struggle. Like a wave held back for too long, she is ready to break down the dam. Explode. Again dramatic, but she hardly cares. Why should she? It’s not as if anyone is asking for her inner thoughts. Or that she has anyone to tell them to. 

That’s probably being too unfair. It’s not as if everyone has abandoned her now. If anything she has distanced herself from them. At school she is friendly, polite, yet she does not work to form any great attachments. Popularity is not something she can bring herself to care about. It’s not important - not anymore. Besides, it’s not as if she would be able to tell them any of this in the first place. They would think her mad. She isn’t Lucy, who could say something like that and get away with it still. 

But maybe if she tried talking about this with her siblings it would help. Help bridge the growing distance. Help heal the cracks. Help, just, something somehow. It’s as if she is losing them. It is positively hateful. It does not seem to matter what she does, they still slip away. Some more than others. Maybe talking about this, opening up, would help. Would bring them back together. 

Or maybe it would make it worse instead. Make them doubt and pity her. What if they echo Aslan's words themselves? What if they accuse her of the same thing? She can take many things, but that she cannot. Not from them. Maybe it is best to remain silent after all. Which is the right decision? She does not know. Yet another thing to plague her. To linger in the back of her mind. Hateful. 

She drains the last of the tea from her cup and rinses it out. Morning will come soon enough and she can wash it then. For now she should at least attempt to get some more sleep. There is no such thing as a lie in at their house. The day will not start itself - or at least that is what they are told. 

Quietly she goes back upstairs and into her bed. Lucy is still soundly asleep, now with a foot sticking out of the blankets as well. Around her the house is silent. There isn’t even a creak as it settles. Nothing. It is almost eerie to hear. 

She closes her eyes and hopes for sleep. Maybe now that she is calm it will come. It does not always, it simply depends. There seems to be no rhythm or reason to when she can return to sleep or not. Nothing has been resolved, but then she wasn’t expecting it to be. Rome wasn’t built in a day. For now she will take it one step at a time. 

If only it made for more peaceful steps. 


End file.
